


Out of Place

by Oparu



Category: Star Trek: The Next Generation
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-25
Updated: 2011-01-25
Packaged: 2017-10-15 01:50:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/155762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oparu/pseuds/Oparu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When she asked Starfleet for back up, Ro Laren never thought Crusher would be part of the cavalry. War doesn't fit with what she remembers of the Enterprise. It's a far different galaxy with the Dominion trying to take over.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Out of Place

**Author's Note:**

> written for abydos_dork after a kind donation through helpbrazil2011.

Surely it's a crime to look good in SOBs. Someone, somewhere must have made it illegal, not that she really cares, but she'd like it noted in the record that it is less than normal to look good in surface operation blacks. The tight fabric is padded underneath, toughened to resist blades and woven thick, with reflective fibres to resist energy weapons. The uniforms are the closest thing Starfleet has to practical field gear, and, even though she hates to admit it, Starfleet finally got something right. Surface operation blacks are good in the field.

They're better on Doctor Crusher, and she shouldn't be thinking about that. Ro has so much else to do, like teach these Starfleet grunts how to hide in the hills and fight the impossible forces of the Cardassians and the Dominion. It's a funny thing to be released from prison to fight the same people you were fighting all along. To have your benevolent captors realise that maybe, just maybe, you had it right.

So they sent her out, back to the same dirty, dry little planets out along the Federation-Cardassian border, gave her a new rank, Lieutenant Commander, and let her do what used to be illegal.

Kill Cardassians.

Killing Jem'Hadar is a bonus. They're a good deal harder to kill but she's adaptable. She's always had to be.

Doctor Crusher was not who she imagined getting as the medical liaison of this little strike mission. Doctor Crusher is a remnant of forgotten days on the _Enterprise_ , when times were good and soft and she was gentle: muted like the beige walls of Ten Forward. She watched Doctor Crusher then, tracking the red of her hair as the doctor sat with Counsellor Troi and laughed, or waltzed across the room with Captain Picard at a party.

She was ethereal then, somehow more than real. Ro's not sure how to integrate that Doctor Crusher with the woman sitting next to her: dirty, worn down around the edges, still beautiful but sharp the way a sword can be beautiful. Her uniform clings to her body and yes, for some reason, she looks good.

She touches Ro's arm, pulling her out of her daydream.

"Did you get enough to eat?"

Ro nods, wondering why Doctor Crusher is even asking. She can't like the food. Starfleet rations are only better than old Bajoran rations in that they're slightly less old. The staleness is still there, the hint of something being over-replicated and made too many times out of the ions of old boots.

Crusher smiles in response to Ro's puzzled look.

"You're thinner than you were on the _Enterprise_. I know rations are terrible, but they are nutritious."

"I wasn't aware Starfleet sent you to take care of my nutrition."

Crusher's smile becomes a smirk. "It wasn't in the letter of my orders, no. You just look thin."

"These are thin times."

"They are." Crusher nods, reaching up and letting her hair free from the tight knot on the back of her head. Even dusty it falls down in soft red waves and Ro can't help wondering what it might feel like to put her hands into it.

"Tough everywhere, even in Starfleet."

"Not the food."

"No, no," Crusher sighs. "We always have enough food."

There's a darkness in her eyes, and Ro wonders if she missed something. She's always seen life in the Federation as soft, like the people in it. Not that soft is bad. Soft means good people who have led good lives, surrounded by other good, gentle people. She would have loved to grow up in a soft place.

Crusher takes pity on Ro and clarifies. "Our ranks are growing a little thin. People I served with before, my graduating class at Starfleet Medical. Every time the casualty list comes out, there's someone I know on it. I don't know whether I'll be happy when there's not, or if then I'll have to start wondering if I've run out of acquaintances."

For the space of several heartbeats, Ro just stares at her. She never thought of it that way. She doesn't have that many people to lose. She has her cell, but those are interchangeable. People come and go. Her life has always been like that.

Crusher's too bright blue eyes are full of sympathy. "I'm sorry. I must sound terrible, coming from a nice warm bed on the _Enterprise_."

"No, no, not at all."

Ro doesn't mean to but she touches her, covering Crusher's hand with her own hard one. For a moment, they both look at their fingers. Ro's are dark, and worn from living rough. Crusher's are paler, and softer, yet no less strong.

"I was thinking I didn't know much about what it was like to have people to lose."

"I can think of many people who were worried when we lost you. Will, Jean-Luc, Deanna, Guinan: all of us worried for you when you joined the Maquis."

Ro winces. She wouldn't have gone if the cause wasn't just, if fighting the Cardassians wasn't the most important thing she could have done with her meagre life.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't apologise. Did you get our letters?"

They all wrote her in prison, of course, these soft people from the _Enterprise_. Ro didn't have anything to say, so she didn't write back. She'd hoped they stop, but all of them continued. Guinan she'd suspected, she was sentimental. Picard was another one who cared more than he should. Riker probably felt responsible, and she'd never stopped thinking Troi may have been trying to be helpful.

Crusher though, she didn't have an excuse. She wasn't overly responsible, or sentimental. She'd written, but Ro had no idea why.

"I did. Thank you."

"I realise they can't have been that interesting--"

Ro cuts her off. "They were. I didn't have much to do, but I liked getting them."

"Good." Crusher smiles, the mysterious one, not the shy one any more.

Belatedly, Ro lifts her hand from Crusher's, that's not a place for her hand to be. For some reason, Crusher's hand follows her's, reaching for her cheek.

"I liked writing them."

Crusher stands, leaving Ro alone by the wall of the old Bajoran-style farmhouse. "Good night Ro."

Ro's eyes follow after her until Crusher's form disappears into the darkness.

"Good night."

 _\- finis -_


End file.
